London Calling
by molly2012
Summary: Established Zibbs, case fic. Ziva once spent time undercover in England. Nine years later the team discover a possible connection between Ziva's mission and a current case. Ziva and Gibbs are sent to London to find some answers, and discover a few things about each other along the way. Rating may go up in later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

_Another case fic - just because I love writing them! And also because I thought it would be fun to see how Gibbs and Ziva manage to balance work and a relationship in their first major case as a couple..._

_Thanks to Zivacentric for her help in the decision to post this one (even if she doesn't know she helped). Hope you guys enjoy! Reviews are welcomed with open arms. _

**_Disclaimer: I own nothing. Unfortunately. _**

* * *

'OK'. Gibbs sighed as he surveyed the ordinary kitchen that, overnight, had become a crime scene. 'Ziva, witness statements. DiNozzo….'

'Bag and tag. On it, boss'.

'And McGee, fingerprints, ID'.

'Ducky not here yet, boss?' McGee knelt down by the prone body on the floor, and pulled the mobile fingerprint scanner out of the gear bag.

The question was timed perfectly. Both Gibbs and McGee looked round as Ducky entered the room, medical bag in hand, looking distinctly annoyed. Jimmy Palmer followed behind him, a sheepish look on his face.

'I apologise for our lateness, Jethro'.

'The, uh, sat nav was down'. Palmer went red as he realised both Gibbs and McGee were looking at him, awaiting a further explanation. 'And traffic was really bad. Accident on the freeway…you know….' He tailed off, now blushing furiously, and set to work gathering the equipment he and Ducky would need.

'The freeway?' McGee questioned.

'Yes, Timothy. It appears Mr Palmer here cannot read a map'.

Gibbs turned away to hide his smirk.

'Don't worry about it, Duck, he's not going anywhere'. He indicated the body. 'You got an ID yet, McGee?'

McGee held up the fingerprint scanner.

'Christopher Mallory. Chief Warrant Officer – EOD.'

'Bomb squad'.

McGee nodded. 'Can't tell you much more until we get back'.

'But I can'. Ducky held up a thermometer. 'Time of death – approximately six to eight hours ago. Which would mean between two and four am'.

'Cause of death?'

Ducky pointed at the kitchen knife sticking out of the Warrant Officer's back.

'That might have something to do with it'. He smiled, and stood up. 'Like Timothy, I will tell you more when we get back and open him up. Mr Palmer?'

'Getting the gurney, Doctor Mallard'.

'McGee, give DiNozzo a hand'. Gibbs looked out of the window. The kitchen looked over the street, and he could see Ziva knocking on her third door, holding up her badge, asking the questions that she would have asked at the two previous houses. He felt the same twinge of pride that he always felt when he took the time to watch her work, and suppressed a smile. It always amazed him – again, when he stopped to think about it – that one of his best agents was also his girlfriend.

He was brought out of his reverie as Palmer returned with the gurney, followed closely by McGee and DiNozzo. It seemed there was not a lot to be found. What there was would end up in Abby's lab for fingerprint tests and analysis. Gibbs ran a hand over his face and rubbed his eyes. He was getting a sinking feeling in his gut that told him there was going to be more to this case than first appeared, when he needed it to be open and shut. He and Ziva had planned a night away at the weekend that he really didn't want to cancel. After three months of being a couple, they were starting to get the hang of balancing work with their relationship, but sometimes it was harder than others. As they secured the house and headed back to the van, he was somewhat reassured by a quick smile and a whisper from Ziva.

'We can rearrange. I checked when I booked it'.

He smiled back. Today was Thursday. If it was straightforward, they could work fast.

'Wait and see what we've got first'.

* * *

'Chief Warrant Officer Christopher Mallory, twenty nine years old. Explosive Ordnance Disposal technician, in other words bomb squad. Born in Ohio, college at Columbus, average grades, joined the navy straight after.' McGee reeled off their victim's biography as they all stood and looked at his photograph, now staring at them from the plasma screen in the bullpen. DiNozzo took over from McGee.

'No wife, no kids, no girlfriend as far as we know. A few friends on base that he had a few beers with every now and then. No money troubles, and no record – not even a parking ticket. Paid his taxes, went to church and called his mum every Sunday'.

Gibbs looked at him, eyebrows raised.

'Well, maybe not. But you know what I mean, boss. There is no reason why someone would stick a knife in this guy's back'.

'And yet, DiNozzo, someone did'.

'Yes, someone did'. He caught the look on Gibbs's face, and turned on his heels to head back to his desk. 'And you want us to find out why. Right. On it'.

Gibbs glared as he reached over to answer the ringing phone on his desk, but the conversation didn't last very long. As he hung up, he grabbed the take out coffee sat on his desk and beckoned for the rest of the team to follow.

'Abby's got something'.

* * *

'You want the good news or the bad news?'

Abby was practically bouncing. Either the good news was very good, or she had drunk one too many Caf-Pows that morning already. Gibbs handed over another one with slight misgivings, and waited as she took a long suck on the straw.

'Ahh, that's better'.

'Abs? You said you had something?'

Abby looked indignant. 'Gibbs! Have I ever called you down here on false pretences? No. I have something. And I have nothing'.

'Abby'. Gibbs was getting impatient.

'Okay, okay. The bad news first then'. She picked up the knife that Ducky had extracted from Mallory's back. 'No fingerprints. None whatsoever. Wiped clean'.

'A professional job'. Ziva inspected the knife as Abby held it out to her, and Gibbs scowled. _Looks like we're not going to Virginia Beach after all. _

'Yep. That's the nothing. The something is that I took a look at Mallory's laptop. The guy was really, really careless, Gibbs. His password was his mother's name. And his email account was just left open on the desktop'. She shuddered. 'I could never do that. It's like hanging your panties on the washing line'.

'You don't hang panties on the washing line?' DiNozzo was looking worried, and Abby smirked.

'Only the lacy ones, Tony'.

'Abby. The laptop'. Gibbs gestured impatiently.

'Right. The laptop. Well, there were several email conversations that intrigued me. All with the same address, registered to this company, Marshall's. It's actually one of the Navy's suppliers. They manufacture rolling air-frame missiles. On the surface, there's nothing particularly interesting in any of the emails, except the other person never signed their name once. Which is a bit odd. It's one of those where the address doesn't give an individual's name, but I traced it through….'

'In English, Abs. And quickly'.

Abby pouted. 'You spoil all my fun. But…..this is the guy who was corresponding with our dead officer. Ben Hutton'. She pulled a photograph up on screen, and turned to them, beaming.

'That's good work, Abby'.

'That cannot be right'. Ziva was looking at the photograph intently, her brow furrowed. 'Are you sure, Abby?'

'Ziva?' Gibbs raised his eyebrows as Abby nodded.

'I hacked their server and traced the IP address back to this guy's computer. Of course, someone else could have sent them from his terminal, but if so he must have been very lax about security as well. There's a lot of them'.

'Something wrong?' Gibbs instinctively moved closer to Ziva. She had gone a bit pale.

'There must be some mistake. That….' She pointed at the photo. 'That is David Windsor, not Ben Hutton'. She looked at Gibbs. 'And David Windsor is dead. He was killed in London eight years ago'.

* * *

'Are you absolutely sure?' Vance asked for the third time. He looked worried.

Ziva nodded. 'I am sure. The photograph on Marshall's company records is of David Windsor'.

Vance blew out a sigh, and automatically reached for a toothpick. Chewing slowly, he looked at the two agents standing before him. He had no doubt that Ziva was right. She had never been wrong about a face before, but now he could feel a major headache coming on. And it was only going to get worse.

'Go over it again', he requested at last. 'I need to have this straight. MI5's coming into MTAC in an hour'.

'Nine years ago I was undercover in England for six months with my Mossad partner. Most of what we were doing was counter-terrorism, but there were other….asides, occasionally'.

Gibbs watched her silently as she stared at a knot in the grain of the Director's wooden desk. He fought the urge to slip an arm around her shoulders, reminding himself of where they were. He knew that Ziva was not particularly proud of her Mossad past, and he guessed that these 'asides' had been assassinations of non-terrorist targets that she was now ashamed to admit to.

'We teamed up with MI5 on more than one occasion. This David Windsor was a known arms dealer. He supplied arms to Hezbollah, Hamas, branches of al-Qaeda, anyone who wanted them. He did not seem to be choosy as long as they could pay. We received a tip-off that he was at his base in London'. She looked up, a touch of defiance in her expression. 'It was an opportunity which we took'.

'You and the MI5 agent'. Vance wanted clarification, and Ziva nodded.

'He organized the, uh, logistics. David Windsor was shot in his house. I saw it happen'.

'But you were not the one to shoot him'.

Ziva shook her head. 'The other agent's name was Adam Rose. At least, that is what I knew him by. He shot him. We never saw Rose again after that. We dealt with other agents, but never him'.

Vance nodded slowly, and leaned forward.

'You verify the kill?'

Ziva closed her eyes momentarily, and shook her head.

Vance sat back again. 'So. If you're right about this, that means David Windsor – an arms dealer - is still alive and working for a company that supplies the navy with missiles. Which in turn means that either MI5 screwed up…..' He paused. 'Or it was deliberate and Rose didn't shoot to kill'.

Gibbs spoke for the first time.

'I'd go with deliberate'. He looked at Vance. 'McGee's been running searches on David Windsor. There's nothing. He can't even find a birth certificate. His record's been wiped'.

Vance threw his toothpick on the desk. His head was beginning to pound.

'Marshall's make rolling air-frame missiles'. He looked at Gibbs as he spoke. 'We're not the only country to use them. The Egyptians and Saudis do as well. And the Iranians want to get hold of them'.

'You think he's selling the technology rather than the actual weapons now?'

Vance nodded. 'Perhaps as well as. Didn't you say your dead Warrant Officer was a bomb disposal guy?'

Ziva nodded. She could see where Vance was going. 'If you can dismantle a bomb, you can make one. Windsor was maybe using Mallory for something'.

'And killed him when he was no longer useful'. Vance finished for her. 'So. Hutton, Windsor, whoever he is. Where is he now?'

'Flew out of DC this morning, before the body was discovered. Headed for Heathrow'.

Vance studied Gibbs and Ziva in turn. 'Then you know what that means'. He gave a crooked smile as he chewed his toothpick. 'You two are gonna go see the Queen'.


	2. Chapter 2

_Thank you to everyone for reading and following! Also, I usually PM to thank people for reviews, but I've had a couple of unsigned ones which obviously I can't reply to. So this is a blanket 'thank you' to everyone who's taken the time to comment - please carry on reviewing, it really helps and I really do appreciate it!_

* * *

'Well, it might not be Virginia Beach – but it does have a good view'.

Ziva dropped her bag on the hotel room bed and walked over to the window, which looked out over the Thames and Lambeth Bridge. Gibbs left his bag on the floor, and followed her over to the window. He felt tired and grimy after the long flight. Ziva, on the other hand, looked as fresh as she had done when they had boarded the plane at six that morning. He wrapped his arms around her waist.

'Sorry about that'.

She turned in his arms to face him, her eyes narrowed, and he gave a half-smile. It was all he could manage before a shower, but he knew the reason for her expression. It was one of his rules to never apologise, but it was one that he seemed to be breaking a lot lately. And all the apologies seemed to be directed at Ziva.

She smiled back before reaching up to place a slow, warm kiss on his lips.

'It does not matter, and this is not your fault, Jethro. We can go another time. And besides, we are here together'. He nodded and sat down on the bed, watching as Ziva pulled clothes out of her bag and headed towards the bathroom with her toiletries. It was completely new to him to be with someone who not only understood but shared the demands of his work, and he still had to get used to it. In fact, there were a lot of things he still had to get used to. He thought he would probably quite enjoy it.

'Do you think Vance knows his secretary just booked us the one room?' There was a touch of laughter in her voice as she placed her toothbrush in the holder by the sink.

Gibbs smirked as he lay back on the bed.

'Probably said it was cutbacks in expenses'.

'I think he is worried'. Ziva reappeared and leaned against the bathroom door, holding a small bottle of the complimentary shampoo. 'About whether we can balance work and….you know'.

'Hmmm.' Gibbs had closed his eyes. He knew if he didn't get up soon he would be asleep. 'Managed it so far'.

Ziva snorted. 'We have not actually had a major case so far, Jethro'.

'You worried?'

Ziva considered for a moment.

'No. I do not think so'. A smile crept across her face as she considered a little gentle teasing. 'As long as you remember who is in charge'.

Gibbs opened one eye and fixed it on Ziva. 'As senior agent - that would be me'.

She raised one eyebrow. 'I was not talking about work'.

'What makes you think I was?' Gibbs smirked as he sat up and ran his hands through his silver hair. This kind of easy banter was one of the things he enjoyed about their relationship, and something that he had not had for a long time.

'We should maybe not, uh, advertise it here though'. Ziva continued talking, her expression thoughtful suddenly. 'MI5 is like any other agency'.

'A vicious rumour mill'.

Ziva nodded. 'We need their co-operation. It might not help if they know we are a couple'.

Gibbs stood, and nodded. She was right, but there were times when he hated having to be so discreet, even at NCIS. They had spent so long as colleagues skirting around their attraction for one another that, when they finally got together, it had been difficult to keep it quiet. Being with Ziva felt so right that sometimes he forgot how unorthodox their relationship was and that not everyone was entirely happy with it. _But, _he reminded himself as he headed towards the shower, _that's what you get for breaking rule twelve._

* * *

An hour later, Gibbs and Ziva were walking along Millbank towards Thames House, the headquarters of MI5. It was already evening, and lights were beginning to twinkle in the dusky river. As they reached the imposing building, Gibbs's mind turned to the meeting that was the reason they were here, and he paused before entering the main door.

'You know this guy?'

She shook her head, and moved to stand beside him.

'He was an agent then, but I never had any contact with him. He became Director-General two years ago'.

'Quick work', Gibbs observed, and Ziva nodded.

'He had a reputation as a high flyer. Ambitious'.

'Any good as an agent?'

'Supposedly very good. But as I said, I never worked with him'.

'Hmm'. Gibbs looked out over the river, towards the London Eye slowly turning on the south bank. Ziva followed his gaze.

'Fancy it?'

'What?' Gibbs turned to her, and she nodded towards the giant wheel. He smiled.

'Case first, Ziva'. She heard the reluctance in his voice and gave a rueful smile, turning to follow him as he held open the main door for her.

'Let's see what wonder boy has to say'.

* * *

'Nice to meet you, Special Agent Gibbs, Agent David'.

The man who rose to greet them from behind a large oak desk was tall and dark, slim for someone who essentially had an office job, and young-looking. _Too young_, thought Gibbs as he took the proffered hand. The Director-General's grip was firm as he shook their hands in turn, and gestured for them to take a seat.

'I wish it was in better circumstances'.

'So do we, sir'.

He waved a hand at them. 'Either Director or Simpson will do fine. Contrary to popular belief, we don't stand on much ceremony here. Can I get you some tea? Or coffee?'

They both declined, Ziva because she was not really thirsty and Gibbs because he suspected MI5 machine coffee would be no better than the swill he occasionally had to drink at NCIS.

Simpson nodded and reached for a file on the desk.

'OK then. Your Director sent me the information on your case yesterday'. He held up the folder. 'Before we go into detail, I want to make one thing clear. I am not following normal practice here by letting you operate on your own. I am not going to assign you a liaison officer, unless you decide you need one.' He paused.

Gibbs shook his head. 'Won't be necessary'.

Simpson nodded. 'Good. I want to keep this as quiet as possible for as long as possible. It's embarrassing, to say the least. The fewer people know about this investigation, the better. So for official purposes, consider me the equivalent of your liaison officer. You report to me. Anything you need, you ask me. And only me. It goes without saying – at least, I assume it does – that your enquiries will be discreet'.

Both Gibbs and Ziva nodded.

'So you can confirm that Ben Hutton is actually David Windsor?' Gibbs had to ask, even though he knew what the answer would be.

'Yes'. Simpson flicked through the file until he came to the photograph. 'We ran it through our facial recognition programs – which I'm sure you did too – and took into account the fact that the last known photograph of Windsor was taken nine years ago. That is definitely him'.

'The background to the op?'

'I'm sure you already have all of this, Agent Gibbs. I don't think I can tell you anything that Agent David here can't. She was there, after all'.

Ziva stiffened. The slight accusatory undertone to Simpson's voice was unmistakeable. She opened her mouth to speak, but felt the slight pressure of Gibbs' leg on hers underneath the desk. _Let me handle this. _

'Need to hear it from you, Director'. Gibbs's expression remained neutral. 'Since, after all, you are in charge here. Or is there someone more….informed that we should be talking to?'

Simpson sighed.

'Mossad brought in the intelligence about Windsor's arms deals. They'd tracked the consignments back from Hamas and Hezbollah to Windsor. We did the legwork this end. It was a joint decision to terminate him, but the operation was risky. To put it bluntly, neither MI5 nor Mossad wanted to take full responsibility if it all went wrong. Agent David was here in London anyway, and was put forward by Mossad. Adam Rose requested the assignment'.

Gibbs nodded. 'He use legitimate business here as cover?'

'Only one that we found – he owned a shop. All his bank accounts and so on were registered there. It was probably how clients contacted him as well'.

'Need that address. And we'll need to talk to Rose'.

Simpson leaned back in his chair.

'The first – no problem. Second could be a little trickier'.

'And why is that?'

Simpson was silent for a moment before speaking again.

'Because, Agent Gibbs, Adam Rose is dead. The police pulled his body out of the Thames this morning'.


	3. Chapter 3

Gibbs stood by the window of the hotel room. It was very late, but his body was still on Washington time and he was no longer tired. He was fuming.

'Think he was actually going to tell us?'

'That is the third time you have said that'. Ziva emerged from the bathroom, where she had the taps running for a bath. She began to unbutton her blouse.

'He would have had to. But he is obviously worried about this getting out. Rose's death will be reported as a suicide. I doubt that the police here even know that he was an agent'. She paused, slipping the blouse from her shoulders. 'Anything more from McGee or Tony?'

Gibbs shook his head, and turned to watch her as she undressed, feeling some of the tension and anger leave his body as he did so. She was truly beautiful. She had a fantastic figure, toned and slim, and he wondered again what she was doing with a grouchy old Marine like him. She looked over and caught him staring at her, the admiration plain on his face as he took in the dark blue lace bra and panties. He decided not to question her decision too closely. Just in case she changed her mind.

'Gorgeous', he murmured huskily.

She smiled. 'Like them?'

'Umm-hmm, but I was actually talking about you'.

Her smile grew wider and he thought he saw her blush slightly before she turned and headed towards the bathroom.

'Are you coming?'

Gibbs wondered if there was a man alive who would turn down an invitation like that. He seriously doubted it, and was about to say so when he heard his cell phone ring. He cursed under his breath, and heard Ziva laugh from behind the bathroom door.

'You had better get that'.

'Yeah, Gibbs'.

'Boss, how's London?'

He recognized McGee's voice. 'Fine, McGee. London in the middle of the night is just fine. You got something?'

McGee cleared his throat. 'Sorry, Boss, we thought about the time difference but…'

'But thought you'd want to hear this'. DiNozzo. Gibbs realized he was on speakerphone, and hoped they couldn't hear Ziva moving around in the bath.

'Hear what, DiNozzo?'

'We – McGee – found another bank account for Mallory. Kind of a secret one, though that sounds a bit dramatic'.

McGee took over. 'The point is, the only activity on this account was a series of large deposits, starting last March. The last one was made just a week before Mallory's death. We – Abby and I – traced the money back to Hutton…er, Windsor, whatever his name is'.

Gibbs took a moment to let this new information sink in.

'So Hutton was paying Mallory for something'.

'Yeah, but we can't find any connection between the two of them apart from the money'. DiNozzo again. 'And I'm not sure about Hutton using Mallory to help make any kind of explosive weapons to sell. According to his colleagues, Mallory was good but not that good. Don't think he was actually bright enough or careful enough for Hutton to use him like that, Boss'.

Gibbs shook his head. He had never liked that theory anyway, and now another one was starting to form in his mind.

'Keep checking for any connection. I mean anything'.

'You thinking something, Boss?'

'Always thinking something, DiNozzo'.

'I felt the head slap from here'.

'Good'. Gibbs paused. 'I'm thinking Mallory found out something, somehow. About Hutton selling the weapons technology.'

'And started blackmailing him?'

'Yep'.

'OK, we'll keep on it. Any joy with the MI5 agent?'

'No, he's dead. Pulled out of the Thames this morning'.

'Ouch'.

'It was for Simpson'. Gibbs sighed. 'Good work, McGee. DiNozzo? You better buy Abby a Caf-Pow. And check Hutton's bank accounts again'.

He ended the call and stood for a moment, thinking. There were too many unanswered questions in this case, and instead of finding answers, they were just finding more questions. He still wasn't sure what he thought about Simpson. His gut told him something wasn't right, although considering that they were operating on his turf Gibbs felt he had no choice but to trust him to some extent. And he wasn't sure what they were supposed to do if they caught up with Hutton. Legally, they couldn't arrest him here, although he could be 'encouraged' to board a plane back to Washington. He suspected most people would actually prefer it if he were to quietly disappear.

'They found something?'

Ziva's voice brought him back to the hotel room. He pushed open the bathroom door, blinking as a cloud of rose-scented steam enveloped him.

'Payments from Hutton to Mallory, into a second bank account'.

He knelt down by the side of the roll top bath. She had already washed her hair, and it lay wet and dark down her back as she leaned forward to hand him the bar of wet soap. He took it from her and slowly rubbed it between his hands.

'Blackmail?'

He nodded, placing the soap back on the side of the bath and beginning to gently massage the lather into Ziva's shoulders and back.

'I was thinking'.

'Umm-hmm?' Gibbs moved his fingers up slightly to work on the tense muscles in her neck.

'Why did Hutton – Windsor – what are we calling him? I am getting confused'.

He smiled as he reached for the soap again. 'Hutton, then. Since technically Windsor no longer exists'.

'Okay. Why did Hutton choose to come to London? Of all the places in the world, why come back here?'

'Maybe still has a network here, people he can trust'.

Ziva nodded. 'Or maybe he just came back to deal with Adam Rose. What is the expression? The one with loose ends'.

Gibbs smirked. 'Tying them up, Ziver'.

'Yes. Maybe he is tying up his loose ends. We should find that shop Simpson said Hutton owned in the morning. In case there is another end there'.

'Umm-hmm'.

Ziva sighed and leaned back to rinse off the soap as Gibbs dried his hands.

'Are you getting in here?'

'Tempting, but don't want to smell like a rose bush'.

She laughed. 'Then pass me that towel'.

He pulled another towel from the heated rail in the corner, and held it up as she stepped out of the bath, wrapping it around her as he pulled her close. The sight of her was already driving thoughts of the case from his mind.

'Smells nice on you though', he murmured as he pressed his lips to hers in a deep, intimate kiss, and neither of them moved to pick up the towel when it fell to the floor.


	4. Chapter 4

_A big thank you to everyone who is reading and / or following this story, and to those of you who have put it on your favourites! Means a lot. Hope you enjoy this latest update. _

* * *

'This is it?'

Gibbs looked up in disbelief at the sign above the shop door, and Ziva checked the address once more.

'This is it', she confirmed, giving Gibbs a sly grin as she did so.

'Damn', he muttered. _This case just gets better and better. _He had agreed with Ziva that they should check out the shop that Hutton had once owned, just in case there was something there that would give them a clue as to his current whereabouts. When Simpson had given them the address, he had never warned them that it was a sex shop in the heart of Soho. Gibbs made a mental note to have words with him later.

Ziva took the lead, pushing open the door and holding it open for Gibbs. A female voice came through from the back.

'Be there in a moment'.

Gibbs looked around. The shop was surprisingly open and bright, and the stock, from what he could see, looked fairly mainstream but there was nobody browsing yet. It was still early, and he guessed it hadn't been open that long. He watched as Ziva slowly wandered round, taking in the layout of the place, before stopping next to a rack of deep red silk basques and fingering the one at the front. The image of her actually wearing one popped into his mind, but he reluctantly pushed it away as a woman emerged from the back of the shop carrying a large cardboard box.

'Can I help you at all?'

She was young, with blonde curly hair and a few freckles scattered across her upturned nose. She turned to them with a smile as she set the box down on the counter, and saw Ziva still holding the basque.

'That would look good on you. Want to try one on?'

Ziva smiled, and put it back on the rack. 'Not just now. But thank you. We are actually here for something else'.

'Oh?'

Gibbs remained quiet, letting Ziva do the talking.

'We are part of the Naval Criminal Investigative Service in the US'. She flashed her badge quickly. 'Agent David, Special Agent Gibbs. We are working with the security service here on an investigation. This address cropped up, and we wondered if you could help us with a few questions'.

'Security service?' The girl looked baffled. 'Sure. What do you wanna know?'

'You name, for a start'. Gibbs moved to lean against the counter.

'Annalise. Annalise Carter'.

'You own this place, Annalise?' Ziva had decided to play good cop against Gibbs. After all, the girl hadn't done anything wrong that they knew of.

She shook her head. 'I own the business. Not the building. I pay an extortionate amount of rent for that'.

'How long have you been here?'

'Eight years as the owner. I worked here for a bit before that though'. Gibbs and Ziva exchanged glances, but Annalise didn't seem to notice. She began unpacking the box, and Gibbs tried not to stare.

'I worked here during my first year of university. It was a guy who ran it then, David Windsor. He wasn't here very often, and when he was he spent most of his time upstairs doing paperwork and admin stuff. We have the floor above as well, you see'.

'Was it always this kind of shop?'

Annalise grinned. 'Yep. Well, I say that. It used to be pretty seedy. I came here as a Saturday girl, basically. Trying to help reduce my student loan. I dropped out of uni when I realised I could earn more in a week working as an escort than a junior doctor earns in a month'.

'You were studying medicine?' Ziva tried to keep the surprise out of her voice.

Annalise nodded, and gave a brief smile. 'Congratulations. Most people either think I'm lying or they sound so surprised it's a bit insulting'.

'So the escort work?'

'Came through David', Annalise confirmed. 'But then that tailed off, and I started to work here pretty much full time. He was away more and more often, and he didn't pay badly'.

'Do you know where he is now?'

Annalise stopped unwrapping bottles of lubricant, and looked at Gibbs. There was a thoughtful expression on her face.

'I actually have no idea', she confessed. 'It was weird. He just disappeared about, what, nine years ago now? I was used to him being away from the shop for long periods at a time, but when six months went by and he still hadn't shown I got a bit worried. Then a solicitor showed up. Said David had left the country, and put the property up for rent with an agent. The business was basically in administration with this solicitor. If I wanted to take it over, he said it was mine. Nominal price of one pound. An offer like that, I didn't ask too many questions'.

'Who was this solicitor?'

'Uh, Rose, I think his name was. It'll be on the paperwork. I only dealt with him while he sorted things out for putting the business in my name. Never heard from him after that'.

'What happened to all Windsor's admin? Files, and so on?'

'The solicitor took it. There was maybe a couple of boxes full'.

'Okay, thanks'. Ziva looked over at Gibbs. 'Mind if we take a look upstairs?'

Annalise shrugged. 'Not a lot to see, but help yourself. Stairs are just through there'. She indicated towards the back area of the shop. 'If you want to see the paperwork for this place, it's all in the filing cabinet in the office. Top drawer'.

'Thank you'.

Gibbs followed Ziva up the rickety staircase to the hallway above. A small kitchen area was off to the right, while the doorway to the left led into the office. Annalise had been right. There wasn't much in there apart from a desk with a computer and printer, a squashy armchair and the filing cabinet. He nodded towards the computer, indicating that Ziva should take a quick look while he dealt with the hard copy in the filing cabinet.

'Think she knows anything? Ziva asked quietly as she brought up the desktop.

Gibbs pulled a couple of files from the drawer and shook his head.

'No, she doesn't know anything'. His gut was rarely wrong. He sighed as he flicked through the file, and then gave a quiet bark of laughter. He held it out to Ziva.

'Subtle'.

She took it from him, and saw that it was open at a letter from a firm of solicitors. The firm's name, across the top of the letter, read 'Rose, Rose and Simpson'. She smirked.

'Very. Wonder why Simpson did not think to mention it?'

'Think there's a few things he hasn't thought to mention'.

It did not take them long to go through the paperwork in the filing cabinet and the computer. Everything was neatly filed, and the shop appeared to be producing a healthy turnover. Annalise was obviously a good businesswoman. As they headed back down the stairs, they saw that there were now customers browsing in the front part of the shop.

'Did you find everything you needed?'

Ziva nodded and smiled. 'Yes, thank you. We will be out of your way now. But we may call back if we have further questions'.

'Sure. Oh, and before you go. That basque. It really would look good on you. And you're still thinking about it'.

Ziva's smile widened, although Gibbs couldn't tell if that was because of Annalise's perceptiveness or his own slight intake of breath that she had heard.

'You are right, but….'

Annalise was already walking over to the rack. She rifled through, a look of concentration on her face, until finally pulling one out from halfway back. She held it out to Ziva.

'Here. I think this should fit. And we have the…er…..' She shot a quick look at Gibbs before turning back to Ziva, a smirk on her face. 'The other matching items are over here'.

Ziva took it from her. 'How do you know what size I am?'

Annalise laughed. 'Years of practice. You want to take it? If I've got the size wrong you can always bring it back'.

Ten minutes later they finally left the shop, Ziva clutching a plain white bag. As they rounded the corner at the end of the street, she shot a sideways look at Gibbs. He realised she was trying to suppress her laughter.

'You were embarrassed'.

He shook his head.

A delighted smile spread across her face, and she poked him gleefully in the ribs.

'You were!'

He couldn't help laughing with her. Her smile had that effect on him.

'Seen it all before, Ziva'.

He slipped an arm around her shoulder as they crossed the road, still laughing. Despite the case and the new information they had just learnt, he felt relaxed. Happy. Moments like this, he realised, were what he had been living for lately. He guided her towards a café that looked like it might serve decent coffee, and, as he held the door open for her, saw the mischievous look still on her face.

'Used any of it before?'

Gibbs smirked as they sat down at a window table.

'You'll find out if you don't stop being cheeky'.

She raised her eyebrows and lowered the menu. Her feet found his under the table as the waitress came over to take their order.

'That', she murmured, 'would not be a punishment'.


	5. Chapter 5

_A quick update! Earlier than planned but it was written so figured I might as well post :). Let me know what you think!_

* * *

Back at the hotel room, Gibbs was pacing the floor while Ziva sat at the desk. They were both silent, thinking about the case, although every so often Gibbs let his gaze wander to the little white bag sat on the floor next to Ziva's side of the bed. After she had caught him looking at it for the fourth time, Ziva stood up and tucked it safely away in her holdall bag, smirking at him as she did so.

'Case first, yes?'

He scowled, and resumed pacing.

'So Simpson and Rose cleared up after Hutton'.

Ziva nodded. 'It looks that way'.

'So did Simpson know that he wasn't dead? Or was Rose working alone?'

'You think we should talk to Simpson again?'

Gibbs paused by the window. After a foggy start it had turned into a gloriously sunny day, and their walk back from Soho had been surprisingly warm and pleasant. That had not stopped his good mood vanishing as he thought more about the implications of their talk with Annalise and less about Ziva's new purchase. He shook his head in answer to her question.

'Not yet'.

'He gave us the address. He must have known we would find out'. Ziva joined Gibbs by the window, voicing her thoughts aloud. 'So why not just tell us and save us the trouble?'

Gibbs shook his head again. More questions. No answers. He wondered how long they would stumble around in the dark before they caught a break.

'Still nothing from Heathrow either'.

He had asked Simpson to get them the CCTV tapes from the airport covering the time that Hutton was supposed to have arrived. If they were lucky, he might have taken a taxi, or even been met by someone. At the moment, it was looking like their best chance of finding him, but for some reason Simpson had not delivered yet. Gibbs was beginning to think the stalling was deliberate. Ziva looked thoughtful.

'Maybe we should have McGee or Tony get the footage. The files can be emailed'. Gibbs gave her a sharp look.

'You thinking the same as me?'

'That for some reason Simpson has deliberately not got us those tapes? Yes, I am. I do not trust him. Not after what we have found this morning'.

Gibbs nodded slowly. He checked his watch, and realized it was still too early in Washington to call DiNozzo or McGee. Even with a case on, he doubted they would be in the office at six in the morning. He looked over at Ziva, who was now unwrapping a packet of cookies from the complimentary tea tray on the desk. She took a bite of one, holding the other one out to him with her eyebrows raised. He shook his head, and smirked despite himself.

'Know better than to take cookies off you, Ziver'.

She grinned back, and nodded as he reached over to brush some crumbs from her lower lip.

'A wise decision. These are lovely'. She looked at the second one for a few seconds before shrugging and taking a bite. 'What are you wanting to do now then? If you do not think we should confront Simpson just yet?'

Gibbs blew out a sigh. 'Give it another hour, then call DiNozzo. I want that airport footage'.

'We could maybe have a walk, then, along the river? It is a beautiful day'.

He looked over at her, now sitting on the edge of the bed eating the last of the cookie. She looked so young, her hair loose about her shoulders, her jeans and jumper hugging her curves perfectly. He felt a wave of something wash over him, and he wondered briefly why it was always in the most unexpected moments that he realized he loved her the most. They had been together three months now, but it had taken him a while to recognize that feeling and even longer to gather up the nerve to tell her that he was falling in love with her. He couldn't help the small smile that crossed his face as he remembered that evening.

'Penny?'

Ziva was looking at him, half concerned and half amused. He raised his eyebrows, and she laughed.

'Penny for your thoughts. That is the expression, is it not?'

He nodded and smiled again.

'Worth more than a penny though. Since I was thinking about you'.

He walked over to the bed and placed his legs one either side of hers. Tilting her head up, he leaned down and kissed her slowly, deeply, never wanting to let go until they were forced apart by the need to breathe. He ran his fingers through her hair.

'You know….' Ziva's voice was husky. 'Maybe we should stay here. Just in case…'

Gibbs nodded, and pulled her up off the bed so that she was standing in front of him, her body flush with his. He slipped his hands underneath her jumper, loving her slight intake of breath as his fingers ran over her bare skin. The feel of her was already making his body harden. He leaned down to kiss her again, murmuring in her ear along the way.

'Better exercise than walking'.

* * *

'OK, McGee. Thank you'.

Ziva ended the call, and put her cell phone back on the table. Gibbs watched her lazily from where he still lay on the bed. He knew he should get up and start working – or at least doing something – but all he wanted to do right now was look at her. She returned his gaze for a moment, both of them enjoying the feeling of just being together, prolonging the moment as long as possible before she sighed and indicated the phone she had just put down.

'McGee says Hutton's bank records are clean. No sign of any deposits that should not be there, no sign of any other accounts that we did not know about before, no large sums of money going into his accounts. Only the payments to Mallory going out'.

'So nothing indicates he was selling information'.

Ziva shook her head, and bit her bottom lip as she often did when she was thinking. It was one of her mannerisms that Gibbs loved, but he also wished sometimes that she wouldn't do it. It was distracting as hell.

'So what was he doing?'

Ziva held up her hand and looked over at Gibbs.

'If Hutton was not selling information, then the only reason Mallory would have to blackmail him would be if he found out Hutton's true identity'.

Gibbs nodded slowly.

'They found a connection between Hutton and Mallory yet?'

Ziva shook her head. 'They are still looking into it. They will call us later when – if – they get the CCTV from the airport'.

Gibbs nodded again. He didn't want to ask her again, but felt he had to.

'You sure there's nothing else that you remember from that op? Anything at all?'

She gave him a sharp look, but shook her head.

'Would your partner know anything?'

This time she did not look at him, but stood up and headed towards the bathroom. Gibbs heard her running the taps in the sink and splashing her face, and got up to follow her. He leaned against the side of the door as she reached for the towel to dry her face.

'I have told you everything I know, Jethro'.

He nodded. He was a bit confused by her reaction. As he watched her, he realized that she had never told him who her Mossad partner in London had been.

'Who was it?' His voice was quiet.

She looked at him for a long moment, as if trying to decide whether to answer his question or not. He was not worried that she would lie to him, but her reluctance to tell him in the first place was bothering him slightly.

'Ziva?'

She sighed, and threw the towel back over the rack. She did not look at him as she answered.

'Michael'.

He took a sharp intake of breath.

'Rivkin?'

She nodded, and he released his breath in a long, slow sigh.

'And you didn't tell me because….?"

She pushed past him into the bedroom.

'Because, Jethro, it was not relevant. Michael had no involvement in this op at all. He did not even know what I was doing. That was how we worked things. We worked together on the counter-terrorist mission. Other ops like this…well, he did his own thing, and I did mine'. There was a look of defiance on her face as she looked up at him. 'If I had told you about him you would have automatically suspected him of being involved in some way, even if I knew he was not'.

'You think I don't trust you?' He didn't mean to make it sound so accusing, but he couldn't help being pissed off. To his surprise, she did not lash back out at him, but just stood looking at him, her eyes full of anger. He waited for her to answer. Slowly the emotion left her face, and she slumped back down on the bed, shrugging.

'To be honest, I did not know'. She fiddled with the zip on her jumper, avoiding his gaze. 'I did not say anything because I did not want to bring it all up again. I did not want to see the look on Tony's face – or yours – if I mentioned Michael. And I know he was not involved. So it seemed easier not to'.

Gibbs shook his head, and ran a hand over his face. He felt like giving himself a head slap, and swore to himself that he would as soon as Ziva was not in the room to see it. He knew that, like him, she did not love or trust easily, and he always felt privileged that she had opened up to him as much as she had over these past months. But it seemed he still had more work to do. He walked over and knelt down in front of her by the bed.

'Hey'. He reached up and tucked a finger under her chin. 'Look at me, Ziver'. The look in her brown eyes when her gaze finally met his made his heart melt.

'I'm sorry'.

She smiled. 'You are apologizing again. I will start worrying soon'.

He shook his head. 'You deserve it. If you say he wasn't involved, I believe you. Should have respected your decision not to say anything'.

It was Ziva's turn to shake her head. 'No, I should have said'.

'I trust you. And I believe in you'.

She nodded slowly. 'I know. And I am sorry'.

He took her hand in his and kissed it gently as she reached out with her other hand to stroke his cheek.

'I guess this is why rule twelve was created, hmm?'

He laughed softly and nodded, moving to sit on the bed next to her. She did not resist as he pulled her into a hug.

'Do you, uh…have any regrets? About breaking your rules?'

Gibbs tightened his arms around her. 'Never. I love you, Ziver. Worth more than any rule'.

He did not know how long they stayed like that, wrapped in each other's arms, although he felt like forever would not have been long enough. As it was, he swore when his cell phone began to ring, making Ziva laugh and pull away from him, rubbing her face where a few stray tears had been quietly falling. He kept one arm around her as he answered the call.

'Yeah, Gibbs'.

He listened intently, frowning in concentration, his fingers now absentmindedly playing with Ziva's hair. He didn't say much, but when he finally hung up and turned to face her, his expression was one of barely concealed fury.

'What is it? Was that Tony?'

He nodded, and stood up.

'They got the CCTV from Heathrow. Security there never had a request from Simpson'.

'Have they found something on it?'

Gibbs nodded, his jaw set. 'Hutton was met off the plane. Abby ran facial recognition. Came up as an MI5 agent'.

Ziva raised her eyebrows.

'That means….'

'Simpson knew Hutton was coming back here. He was involved enough to have an agent meet him off the plane'. He grabbed his jeans and shirt, pulling them on quickly while Ziva hurriedly reached for her own clothes.

'Think it's time for that talk'.


	6. Chapter 6

_Much more of a case chapter here, rather than a Ziva/Gibbs chapter, but it should explain a few things :). All reviews are, as always, very welcome. _

* * *

'Explain'.

Gibbs was barely controlling his anger, but Simpson did not react. He sat behind his desk, staring at the photograph Gibbs had thrown down in front of him. It showed Hutton being led out of Heathrow airport by a man who had been identified as one of Simpson's agents. When Simpson finally sighed and leaned back in his chair, his look was not one of a criminal who knew he was trapped and was looking for a way out. It was the look of a man who knew he could not lie any more.

'Sit down, Agent Gibbs, Agent David. Please'. He took off his reading glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. When neither of them moved to the chairs by the desk, Simpson shrugged and stood up, walking over to the window. He stared out over the river. Gibbs couldn't help wondering if he was trying to decide how much to say. Eventually he took a deep breath, and turned to face them.

'The man you know as Ben Hutton, also as David Windsor….he was an MI5 agent. Deep undercover'.

Gibbs couldn't stop the expletive from escaping his lips, but Simpson acted as if he hadn't heard.

'He was trained for deep cover work from the time he joined the agency. And he was the best. Over time – years of painstaking work, Agent Gibbs – he infiltrated that world. He began working for a major arms dealer. Setting up contacts. Networking. Admin. He managed to get his fingers in several pies. And the information he passed back to us was…well. Invaluable'.

Gibbs was shaking his head. He couldn't quite believe what he was hearing.

'You trained him to be an undercover arms dealer?'

'Basically, yes'.

'That his real name?'

Simpson nodded. 'We kept it as simple as possible. That's the trick with deep cover. Too many lies to remember, and they trip up. His real name was David Windsor'.

'And the arms he was selling?' This from Ziva, leaning against the desk, a dangerous expression on her face.

'Real, of course. He had no choice in that'. Simpson did at least have the grace to look slightly ashamed as Ziva gave a soft hiss, shaking her head.

'Do you have any idea…..'

Before she could continue, Simpson interrupted her.

'He had to. If he tampered with them, if the weapons his - let's call him his employer - sold were dodgy in any way, he would immediately come under suspicion. Likewise if we intercepted too many of his particular shipments. With the information he gave us about who was buying we were able to break up several armed terrorist cells both here and abroad. He has saved hundreds, if not thousands of lives, Agent David'.

'So what happened?'

'He became worried. Thought a client was asking too many questions after a shipment was intercepted. When his employer started asking questions too he got scared. He thought his cover was about to be blown. It became…urgent. But we couldn't just pull him out overnight'. He gave a mirthless laugh. 'You don't just retire from working for an arms dealer'.

'So you faked his death instead. Rose knew about this deep cover stuff?' Gibbs was struggling to keep the anger out of his voice, and Simpson noticed. He nodded, and swallowed hard. For the first time, Gibbs saw something like regret in his expression.

'Adam Rose was Windsor's handler'. His voice was quiet now, tired. 'He was Windsor's only point of contact with the agency while he was undercover. He had all the files. Everything that Windsor passed to us went through Rose. When he thought his cover was blown, it was Rose he contacted. Rose came to me – I was his superior officer. We did the only thing we could to get Windsor out'.

He looked at Ziva, still leaning against the desk.

'I apologise, Agent David. Mossad did not know the real nature of the operation that you took part in. They thought – like everyone else – that he was a genuine arms dealer. When they asked for one of their agents to be involved, we thought it was ideal. It gave the operation more legitimacy'.

Gibbs's mind was whirling. Even with all his years of experience, he was struggling to take this in. And it looked as if Ziva had been right about Rivkin not being involved. He looked over at Simpson and, despite his anger, he almost felt sorry for him. He looked defeated, alone, and totally out of his depth.

'The name of the arms dealer he was working for?'

Simpson shook his head. 'Can't, Agent Gibbs. We're still tracking him. I can't reveal details of an ongoing mission'.

Gibbs blew out a sigh. It didn't really matter anyway. Looking at Ziva out of the corner of his eye, he had to admire her control. It was only because he knew her so well that he could tell she was hovering somewhere in between fury and disbelief.

'The shop was a second layer of cover for the arms dealing'. It seemed now that Simpson had started to talk, he could not stop. 'Most half-decent criminals have a legitimate business covering the dodgy one. We owned the building anyway, it seemed ideal to set up as a shop'.

'Annalise Carter one of yours, too?'

Simpson shook his head. 'It suited us to keep the building going, though. You probably guessed…we still own it. The rent is coming indirectly to us. And Windsor had got fond of her'. He paused as he saw the questions on Gibbs's face. 'Not like that. But at least someone got something out of the whole fiasco'.

Gibbs didn't think he would have articulated the situation quite like that, but he let it slide.

'After the op, we cleaned up and got Windsor to the States. New identity, obviously. David Windsor became Ben Hutton. The job at Marshall's had no significance. It was just what we could get him at the time'. He paused, and walked back to his desk to take a mouthful of now-cold coffee. He grimaced.

'Think I need something stronger'. He opened a drawer at the bottom of the desk, and pulled out a small bottle of whisky. He held it up, offering it to Gibbs and Ziva. They both shook their heads, and Simpson poured himself a generous measure into his empty coffee mug.

'We had a list of everyone he was in contact with in the States. Christopher Mallory appeared on that list two years ago'.

'How'd they meet?' Gibbs didn't really want to interrupt, but the connection between Mallory and Hutton had been bothering him.

Simpson took a mouthful of whisky before he replied. 'Socially. Mallory's cousin worked for Marshall's. They met at a party and became….friendly'.

'A relationship?'

Simpson nodded. 'We warned him against it, but he knew to be careful with what he said. Obviously he wasn't careful enough. Mallory somehow found out his identity'. Simpson sat down heavily into his chair.

'His identity as an MI5 agent?'

'No, as an arms dealer. Hence the blackmail. We told him to run with it while we figured out what to do'.

'So while you were figuring it out he killed a US naval officer?' This time the contempt was clear in Gibbs's tone. He couldn't be bothered to hide it.

Simpson nodded. 'Afterwards, he requested an emergency extraction and we got him one. Our priority was to get him back here before he got picked up by the police'.

'So who killed Adam Rose?' Ziva looked down at Simpson as she spoke, her expression now curious.

Simpson shook his head. He seemed to physically sag as he spoke, the weight of the words suddenly hitting him.

'We think Windsor did. We lost him after he arrived back here'.

Gibbs had a sudden, absurd urge to laugh in disbelief.

'You lost him. Then he killed his handler'.

Simpson looked up at Gibbs. His jaw was set, a touch of defiance in his expression.

'I know, Agent Gibbs. Adam Rose would still be alive if we had been more careful'.

'Yeah, so would Christopher Mallory'. Gibbs paused. 'You found him yet?'

Simpson shook his head.

'Were you ever gonna tell us?' Gibbs almost exploded. He didn't think he had ever felt so furious, and it was only the fact that Simpson was the armed director of a government agency that stopped him venting his anger physically.

He heard Ziva snort. 'He was using us to try and find Hutton. Of course he was not going to admit to this if he had the choice not to. Am I right, Director?'

Simpson did not reply.

The room was silent for several minutes. Gibbs did not trust himself to speak, and Simpson seemed to have finally run out of information. He cut a pathetic figure now, slumped in his desk chair and drinking his second measure of whisky out of his mug. Gibbs didn't even bother to ask if he had any kind of plan for finding Hutton. He knew what the answer would be. Simpson himself had called Hutton 'the best'. He had been trained to disappear. But as he thought over what Simpson had told them, an idea was forming in his mind. It was risky, but it was their only chance. He leaned forward, both hands planted flat on Simpson's desk.

'You do realize that you must also be a target?' His voice was quiet now, without the anger of earlier but with a touch of steel. He had no respect left for Simpson, but needed him to co-operate.

Simpson's brow furrowed.

'What do you mean?'

'Hutton killed his handler. You said yourself – you were Rose's superior at the time. You helped organize his escape. I would say that makes you a target too'.

'Perhaps Hutton is getting tired of being….handled. Perhaps he wants a normal life back. He may see you as a controller just as much as Rose'. Gibbs looked over at Ziva. She had seen where he was going with this, and he was grateful that he did not have to explain.

'You mean you think he'll come after me?' Simpson's voice was weak, disbelieving. 'I have armed protection twenty four hours a day, Agent Gibbs'.

'So where are they?' Gibbs made a show of looking around the office. 'Don't see armed guards. Do you, Agent David?' Ziva shook her head, playing along.

'You said yourself, he's the best. You trained him to be the best. If he wants to get to you, he will'.

'So what, I increase protection? Change my routine? Don't leave the office? What are you saying?' Simpson was becoming increasingly agitated, and Gibbs could have sworn he saw a flash of fear in the man's eyes.

He slowly shook his head.

'No, Director. You do nothing'.

He watched as realization dawned.

'You want to use me as bait?'

Gibbs shrugged. 'Don't have to. But….' He paused, and watched Simpson's face carefully. 'We'll never find him. Only way we'll catch him is if he comes to us'.

It was several minutes before Simpson slowly nodded. He stood up, his earlier air of defeat and exhaustion gone. He looked grim, but determined, and Gibbs breathed out a quiet, slow sigh of relief.

'What do you want me to do?'

* * *

_A/N I have to apologise for the red herring of Rivkin in the last chapter. Hope it didn't get anyone too worked up :). M_


	7. Chapter 7

Gibbs leaned against the bathroom door, a towel wrapped around his waist. He was watching Ziva as she sat in front of the long mirror by the desk, brushing out her damp hair. The white hotel robe that she wore was slightly big on her, the sleeves coming down over her hands, and she impatiently rolled them up as she reached for a tube from her toiletries bag. She smiled as she caught Gibbs's eye in the mirror. He walked over and ran his own hands through her hair, his fingers strong against her scalp, deliberately scrunching the curls, and she leaned back against his stomach.

'What's that?' He indicated the tube she held.

'Straightening cream'.

He closed his eyes and inhaled the scent of her shampoo that lingered on her hair, the freshness of her skin after her shower. It soothed him, calming his mind before the evening that lay ahead. When he opened his eyes again, he saw the long black evening dress that hung against the wardrobe door reflected in the mirror. Ziva followed his gaze, and reached up to grip his hand. He squeezed her fingers gently, grateful for the silent reassurance.

'Prefer it curly'.

Her eyes met his once again in the mirror, and she smiled, silently placing the tube of cream back in the bag. He felt a twist in his gut, and wondered what the hell he was doing letting this evening go ahead.

They had gone over Simpson's diary for the week time after time, scrutinising his every move in advance. Eventually Gibbs had come to the conclusion that there was only going to be one real opportunity for Hutton – if, indeed, he was planning anything. Simpson was due to attend a fundraiser at the Royal Opera House in Covent Garden. Security would be tight, but the performance was a sell-out and the crowds would make it easier for Hutton to get close. On Gibbs's request, Simpson had arranged extra – but discreet – back up. Gibbs would be a part of that, mingling with the other concert-goers. And since Simpson did not have a wife or current girlfriend, it had been decided that Ziva would accompany him.

'It was my idea. No one is forcing me'.

Ziva's gentle reminder brought Gibbs back to the present, and he nodded.

'Umm-hmm'.

It was an idea he wished she had never had.

Apart from the danger that she might very well be in, the idea of her on someone else's arm - on Simpson's arm – brought out the possessive, jealous streak that he tried so hard to keep under control. He knew that she could tell. What he hadn't been prepared for was the fact that she seemed to enjoy it.

He moved to sit down on the bed as she began to apply make up. As he leaned back against the pillows, the covers still rumpled from their lovemaking earlier, Gibbs realised that he had never seen her doing this before. He watched her face in the mirror as she lightly brushed foundation over her already flawless skin, and smudged the faintest hint of a dark, smoky eye shadow over her eyelids. He saw her squint slightly as she applied mascara to her long lashes before sitting back, contemplating her reflection in the mirror, wondering whether to add anything else.

'You look beautiful'.

She smiled, but did not reply. Silently, she stood up and slipped off the robe. She was naked beneath it, and the sight made his breath hitch in his throat. She walked over to the wardrobe and took the dress down from where it was hanging on the door, laying it out on the bed and pulling down the zip that was concealed at the side. She had bought it that day, and Gibbs had not seen it on her yet. But he could already see that there was a long slit up the side that would expose most of one leg, and a low enough back to make wearing a bra impractical. He was unable to look away as she slowly lifted it up and stepped into it, carefully pulling it up over the curve of her hips and settling the top over her breasts. Without a word, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and walked round, gently taking her fingers from the zip and steadily, carefully, pulling it up himself, letting his fingers linger on her exposed skin under her arm, the top of her back. She turned around and lifted up her hair, silently inviting him to straighten the material of the halter neck that snaked around her collarbone to the nape of her neck, holding the front of the dress in place. As he adjusted the silky lace, his lips traced a delicate, feather-light path after his fingers, and he felt Ziva's body lean slightly towards his, sensed her eyes closing and heard her quiet sigh. He pulled back slightly, cupping her shoulders with his hands, and turned her around to face him. She let her hands drop to her sides, releasing the curls that she had been holding up out of his way, and her brown eyes lifted to his face. For a moment, he could not think of words to say.

'Stunning'. He finally managed a hoarse whisper and she smiled, almost shyly.

'I bought it for you. I know I will be with Simpson most of the night but…..I thought you would like it'.

He opened his mouth to speak again, to try and tell her that she didn't have to do this for him, that he was just a jealous idiot who should know better by now, but she silenced him with a finger against his lips and another small smile.

'I know'. She paused, watching his face. 'You are worried about being too possessive, too jealous. You should not be so concerned'. Her eyes met his and he saw in them hint of a challenge, a sexy, flirtatious challenge. Her voice dropped to a near-whisper. 'I want that from you'.

She ran her fingers down his chest, bringing them to rest above the towel that was still wrapped around his waist.

'Is that a bad thing?'

Her simple, but sincere question made his heart beat a little faster, and he shook his head.

'Hope not'. He laced his fingers with hers where they rested on his stomach. ''Cause if Simpson lays a finger on you tonight, there'll be hell to pay'.

Ziva smiled, a real smile this time, not nervous or shy. She leaned into him and released her hand from his grasp, moving it slightly lower as she spoke.

'He would not. Because he knows I would probably kill him myself'.


	8. Chapter 8

_Thank you to everyone who's following this, and also for all the reviews! The next chapter will take the rating up to M, so you might have to look for that update. Enjoy! _

* * *

Gibbs stood at the top of the stairs, holding a glass of champagne while scrutinizing the crowd. He had no intention of drinking it, but it made him look less conspicuous. The upper foyer was crowded with people, mostly in evening dress, mingling, drinking, and talking after the performance. The buzz of conversation was loud, filling the high-ceilinged space and drowning the string quartet that were playing in one corner. Waiters dressed in smart red jackets were maneuvering their way between bodies with silver trays of tiny canapés and glasses of various cocktails. It was the sort of event Gibbs usually hated, but tonight all his senses were on high alert. He could see Ziva with Simpson in the middle of a group of middle-aged couples, talking and laughing. He had to admire her skill. He knew that she would be as watchful as he was, but somehow she still managed to look like she was enjoying herself.

'Anything?'

He kept his voice as low as possible, not wanting to draw attention by appearing to be talking to himself. Within seconds, a voice came back in his earpiece.

'Not yet. He might not even be here'.

Gibbs tried to remember the name that belonged to the voice. It was one of the MI5 agents, anyway. His eyes roamed over the foyer again as he replied.

'He's here. Somewhere. Keep looking'.

No one had seen Hutton, but Gibbs had another gut feeling. And his gut had not let him down yet.

His gaze returned to Ziva, who, next to Simpson, had moved on to another group. She had pinned her curls up so that the halter neck of the black dress was visible, but the style deliberately left some to escape around her face. It made him want to go over and gently brush them back before kissing her again, and he briefly wondered where she had managed to conceal her gun under the dress. He smirked to himself. That thought made him want to go over to her and do something entirely different. He couldn't help feeling a stab of satisfaction mixed with something else – jealousy, perhaps? She was his. And he knew she was acting. But still, the sight of her with someone else was beginning to grate on him.

Gibbs pretended to take a sip of his champagne as he slowly, reluctantly, moved his gaze from Ziva and scanned the bar area, busy with people queuing for drinks and waiters topping up their trays. His attention was caught as he realized there was something familiar about one of them. The hair was different, even the face looked slightly different, but the walk was the same. Gibbs thought back to the footage from the airport, that he had watched over and over again, and knew he was not mistaken.

'Ziva?'

Again, his voice was soft, but carried a tone of urgency that he could not hide.

'The waiter at the bar. Dark hair, glasses'.

Ziva turned round, taking another glass of champagne from a passing tray as she did so to disguise the movement. She was not standing very far away from him now, and he saw the recognition flare briefly in her eyes.

'Got it', she murmured into her glass.

She turned back to Simpson, but he had also heard Gibbs's warning. As he turned and stared at the dark red jacket standing next to the bar, Hutton also turned, tray in one hand. From where Gibbs stood, it was like watching a slowed-down, clichéd action movie. Both men stood perfectly still, each looking directly at the other, before the tray dropped from Hutton's hand. The loud crash and smashing of glass as it hit the floor shattered the paralysis that had taken over for those couple of seconds, and Hutton turned and ran.

'He's gone. Get the stairs and the back'.

Gibbs didn't know what else he shouted as he followed, pushing his way through the crowd towards the performance hall. Hutton had headed straight for the door to the stalls. He cast his eyes wildly around for Ziva, but she was nowhere to be seen.

'Got the stairs, no sign of him'.

Simpson's voice echoed in his ear as he pushed open a door and found himself in the now-empty hall. There was no sign of Hutton, and Gibbs swore as he realized where he had gone.

'Stage door. Get someone outside'.

It crossed his mind that he was getting too old for this as he sprinted across the stage and through to the back dressing rooms. The place was like a warren of darkened corridors, easy to get lost in, which was exactly why Hutton had gone down there.

'Shit', he muttered under his breath. He couldn't even find a light switch. All he could do was to follow the small neon emergency exit signs, and finally he pushed open the stage door, emerging onto a tiny cobbled street around the back of the Opera House. Running towards the old Covent Garden market, he scanned the street ahead of him, trying to spot Hutton in the crowds of people spilling out from restaurants and theatres. And where the hell was Ziva? His gut churned as he realized he had no idea where she had gone.

'Got him in sight'. He let out a sigh of relief as he heard Ziva's voice. 'Heading up past the market'.

'Don't let him get to the tube. If he gets down there we'll lose him'. Simpson again, breathless, obviously running. As Gibbs emerged onto the cobbled plaza area, he saw Ziva turning the corner ahead of him, heading towards the tube station. Simpson came flying out of another side street, heading in the same direction. Gibbs realized that Ziva must have come out of the Opera House by a side, entrance, while Simpson had used the front. He found himself wondering how the hell she was managing to run across cobbles in three-inch heels, when he heard her speak again.

'He's ten meters ahead. What do you want me to do?'

All the possibilities flashed through Gibbs's mind in a second. He wanted Hutton alive. But there was no way they would catch him before he got on the tube. Before he could react, he heard Simpson's voice again.

'Take it'.

Gibbs heard the shot before he rounded the corner, heard the hysterical screams and shouts of bystanders and Simpson's voice, barely more controlled, shouting his identification and telling them to keep back. As he pushed his way through the terrified crowd, he saw Hutton writhing in agony on the cobbles, bleeding from a nasty gash to his head and with one hand clutching his shoulder. Somewhere in his brain it registered that Ziva had not aimed to kill. Somehow, with a fast-moving target, she had managed to shoot him in the shoulder to bring him down alive. Simpson was already on his cell phone as a couple of the other security agents came sprinting around from the other side of the tube station, calling for more back up, an ambulance, whatever else they would need. And finally, Ziva, still holding the gun, beginning to shiver in the cold night air despite running from the Opera House. A flood of relief threatened to overwhelm him, and as he slowed down and approached her, she looked over at him and he could see the relief in her own eyes. He took a deep breath, and slipped his arms around her, pulling her close, not trusting himself to speak. He only moved away when he felt how cold her bare skin was. Slipping off his tuxedo jacket, he placed it gently around her shoulders, looking pointedly at her shoes as he did so. Of all the things running through his mind at that moment, he still found himself wondering how she had managed in them. She pulled the jacket tighter around her, and followed his gaze. When she looked back up at him, she was smiling.

'Years of practice'.

Gibbs pulled her close again and kissed her, not caring who saw. He was past worrying. He was just so thankful that she was fine and had not been hurt. He never wanted to feel that panic in him again, not knowing where she was in the middle of an armed chase. When he finally pulled away, he could only think of one thing to say as he stroked her curls back off her face.

'Don't ever do that to me again'.

He saw the questions in her eyes as he leaned his forehead down to rest against hers, his hands cupping her face. Right now he didn't want her to speak. There would be time for that later. As he heard the ambulance pull up and the police arrive, he whispered in her ear before letting her go.

'I love you, Ziver'.


	9. Chapter 9

_And so we come to the last chapter! Thank you so much to everyone for reading and following this one - it's been a bit of a marathon for me, but I have kind of enjoyed it! _

_This chapter has to come with a MASSIVE thank you to Zivacentric - without her encouragement it was in danger of not being written at all :). _

* * *

They were silent in the elevator. They had been silent ever since they had finally left the hospital emergency department at close to two in the morning. There was nothing more they could do there. Hutton had been taken into the operating theatre, but even when he regained consciousness, it was not in their jurisdiction to question him. That would come later. Gibbs had no doubt that Simpson would keep his word on extraditing Hutton as soon as he was able to put the wheels in motion. Keeping him here would run the risk of exposing everything that MI5 had done, and he had seen enough of Simpson to know that he would not let that happen.

The elevator door slid smoothly open, and they quietly made their way along the corridor to their room. Gibbs took out the key card and slipped it into the door, standing back to allow Ziva to enter first. As he followed and closed the door behind him, she sat down on the bed without even bothering to turn a light on, reached down, and took off her shoes.

'Ahhh'.

The corners of his mouth twitched as he switched on the lamp and saw her massaging one foot, an expression of bliss on her face.

'Here'. He knelt down in front of her and took over, his fingers gently kneading the soft sole of her foot. He had not realized that she had painted her nails, the dark red polish standing out against her skin.

He felt Ziva's eyes on him as he bent his head to kiss her ankle before reaching for her other foot, but he was not willing to meet her gaze just yet. He knew the question she was going to ask before it even left her lips.

'What did you mean earlier?'

Gibbs did not look up, but moved his hands further up so that he was now gently massaging her calf, exposed by the slit of the dress. He could not avoid the question, but he took his time in replying.

'Didn't know where you were. Hutton was armed'.

He tried not to think about the six-inch knife that had been found tucked in the inside pocket of Hutton's jacket.

'I was doing my job, Jethro'.

'I know'. Gibbs still did not look at her. 'But when the job puts you in danger….' He shrugged and stood up, wanting to take off his shirt. The thick, starched material was beginning to make him uncomfortable, and frankly, he did not want Ziva to see the emotions that he was sure were plain on his face.

The remains of the worry and panic from earlier, the anger that she had been put in danger in the first place, the slight jealousy that lingered from seeing her with Simpson, and the fact that he now did not want to let her out of his sight were all still clawing at his insides. It was the protective feeling that he thought she would hate the most, but right now he couldn't help it. His words earlier – _'Don't ever do that to me again' – _were the closest he could come to articulating it.

'Jethro?'

She stood in front of him, her hands reaching up to undo the buttons on the shirt. He had never noticed before how small her hands were, how delicate. He did not meet her questioning eyes, but watched as she deftly worked her way down, finally slipping the shirt from his shoulders.

'Did you not listen to me before?'

Her voice was soft, and sent shivers down his spine as she ran her hands over his bare chest.

'I like it that you feel possessive'. Her fingers traced over his collarbone. 'And I like it that you want to protect me'. Her voice had dropped to a whisper, and he realized that she knew exactly how he was feeling. She did not add what they were both thinking, that wanting to protect her was futile. In the jobs they were doing, Gibbs could only do so much and he knew it. But she understood his instinct. He should have known she would.

'But….' She paused, her gaze moving upwards to meet his. 'I was not asking about that. You said something else too'.

He nodded, the ghost of a smile crossing his lips.

'Would have thought 'I love you' was pretty self-explanatory, Ziver'.

'Hmm'. She nodded, her mouth creasing into a slow smile as her fingers continued moving over his chest.

'I love you too'.

He felt his body responding to her touch and her whispered admission, his burning emotions transforming into a physical need for her that almost overpowered him. Forcing himself to be gentle, his hands shaking slightly, he reached over and ran his fingers down her neck, along her collarbone, round to her back, anywhere where he could feel her soft skin. He could see her eyes darken before she moved away from him, could see her chest rise and fall and knew that she wanted him just as much as he wanted her.

He did not pull her back towards him, but watched as she reached up and began to slowly pull the pins out of her hair, letting the curls slowly tumble back down around her shoulders. She could see his reaction, knew that he was fighting not to take her there and then, but she was still making him wait, enjoying what she was doing to him.

When she was finished she stepped towards him again and placed a fingertip on his lips before slowly dragging it down his neck, over the pulse that he knew she could see beating hard, over his chest again and down the line of hair on his toned stomach that led to the zipper of his trousers. The feel of her hand on him, even through the fabric, was almost too much, and this time she did not stop him as he tangled his hands in her hair and kissed her with a passionate intensity that left them both breathless. Neither of them could hold back any longer, and neither of them wanted to.

Gibbs didn't feel Ziva undoing the zipper, but her hand was suddenly wrapped around him and he couldn't stop the low, guttural moan that escaped his throat as she kissed him again, her tongue dancing around his, her breath coming in short gasps. With her other hand firmly on his back, she pulled him towards her, moving backwards until she was against the wall and he was pushed up against her.

He could feel her heat through the fabric of the dress, and it was then that he remembered she was naked underneath it. The thought almost made him lose control, and he felt her smile of satisfaction against his lips. She had been waiting for that moment. Unable to keep it gentle, unable to hold back any longer, Gibbs took her hand from his back and pinned it to the wall behind her, holding her wrist. He tried to speak, to tell her to stop him if she wanted, but her other hand came up to his face for a brief moment, pulling him in even closer and intensifying their already frantic kisses. As he slipped his other hand from her hip and under the slit of the dress, he realized that he probably didn't have to worry. It was her turn to moan into his mouth as his fingers found her soaking wet, hot, already swollen with need. God, he loved the feel of her. His cock throbbed in her hand as he slipped a finger inside her, making her gasp and arch against him as he circled slowly, deliberately, his palm brushing her clit as he did so.

'Jethro….please'.

He heard her breathless, whispered plea as she pushed against him, but it was his turn to smirk in satisfaction as he slid another finger inside her. He knew he was pushing her to the brink, could feel it in the way she was tightening around him, the way she was getting even wetter against his hand, the way her breath came in gasps against his mouth, but he didn't stop.

He could feel himself growing even harder under her fingertips, felt the tip of his erection become wet with anticipation, but still he kept his fingers inside her, stroking, circling, until he knew he could push her no further. He heard her gasp as he pulled his fingers away and lifted her leg up around his hip, the slit in the dress allowing the fabric to fall out of the way as she guided him in and he thrust himself into her.

She moaned and clutched his shoulder for balance, pushing down on him, taking him deeper and deeper inside her until he felt her muscles begin to tense and her hand slipped from his shoulder.

He gripped her wrist against the wall even tighter as he felt her begin to come apart around him, throbbing against him, bathing his cock in heat and wetness and shuddered as the pressure from her climax forced him over the edge, emptying himself into her with each hard thrust. He heard her cry out as he filled her one last time and slowly, his breath coming in gasps, he released her wrist and felt her sag against him.

He could not move, his body too exhausted, too heavy with spent emotion and the pure physical sensations still running through him. All he could do was to wrap his arms around her tightly, so tightly as if he never meant to let go, and let her sink to the floor with him, their legs unable to hold them up anymore.

It was only hours later, when he awoke to the first rays of the sun coming in through the gap in the curtains, that he realized they had both fallen asleep. Ziva's head was against his shoulder, and he gently shifted to stand up, trying not to wake her. As he lifted her in his arms and carried her over to the bed, she opened one sleepy eye and smiled, reaching for him as he laid her down and snuggling in to his chest as he lay down next to her, enveloping her in his arms again.

Despite everything that had happened, he didn't think he had ever felt so at peace. He tried to stay awake, to watch her sleeping, the slight rise and fall of her chest as she breathed and the occasional fluttering of her long lashes against her cheek, but he felt himself slipping into a deep, dreamless sleep as the rest of London awoke to another day.

* * *

Gibbs strode into the bullpen, coffee in hand and, unusually, a smile on his face. He felt as if he had had the same smile in place ever since that night in London with Ziva, but he couldn't help himself. For the first time in a long time, he felt happy and despite the pressures of the case, he was glad it had come their way. Sometimes, he thought, a change of scene could work wonders.

'You're back!'

Before he could react, a whirlwind had thrown its arms around him, almost knocking him off balance. He grinned, and hugged Abby back before safely depositing his coffee on his desk.

'Hey boss, how was London?' This more restrained greeting came from McGee, smiling up at Gibbs from his desk.

'Boss is back!'

'You don't say, DiNozzo'. Gibbs slung his jacket over the back of his chair.

'So. How was London? Did you get to go to the Tower? I always thought that would be kinda cool, they reckon parts of it are haunted….and shopping! Did you take Ziva shopping?'

'Slow down, Abs'.

Gibbs sat down and took a large mouthful of coffee. He smirked to himself as he remembered the shopping Ziva had done, but decided not to mention that to Abby.

'No time for sightseeing'.

Abby pouted. 'So no photos?'

Gibbs shook his head.

'Where is Ziva?' DiNozzo asked.

Gibbs smiled into his coffee. He didn't really feel like telling everyone that the lease on Ziva's apartment had been due to run out next week, and that as a consequence he had left her that morning in the human resources department, changing her address on her personnel file and sorting out all the relevant paperwork. He had stayed with her there for a few minutes, just to spend the extra time with her, and when the woman in the office had asked what the new address was, Ziva had smiled and squeezed his hand.

'Just look up Leroy Jethro Gibbs. It's the same as his'.

Instead of explaining all this to his team, Gibbs simply shrugged, the small smile still on his face.

'Probably just running late'.


End file.
